Past Sins
by Mislav
Summary: A sequel to my story "Fall". Aaron is under suspension while the Internal control is conducting their investigation over his shooting of the unsub. The team has to work without him in order to solve a bizarre case involving a young girl who got gunned down while trying to shoot two CEOs with a gun used in an unsolved series of murders in 1960. Will Aaron prove his innocenceComplete
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own any of the Criminal Minds characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

 **This is a sequel to my story "Fall". You have to read it in order for this to make sense. A subplot anyway. Like "Fall", this is a case fic. Lots of focus on the case with some character dynamic and friendship along the way. No shipping (except maybe Spencer/Dorian).**

 **And yes, Spencer being the temporary lead of the team is the most contrived story idea ever.**

 **Laura Spencer as Kaley Green**

 **Robert Knepper as detective Anthony Redding Megyn Price as Melany Smith**

 **Rainn Willson as Elliot Smith**

 **Jenna Elfman as Rachel Dawson**

 **Gary Basaraba as CEO Neven Heffernan**

 **Jeremy Sisto as CEO Howard Monroe**

 **Elizabeth Perkins as M.E.**

 **Wallace Langham as Walter Woodhouse**

The morning was cloudy and it looked like it was about to rain. The cold wind would sometimes rush through the air. Aaron stopped looking through the window, although still appearing to be deep in thought, and turned back to face Reid, who drained his cup of tea. They were sitting at his dining room table, facing each other. The house was almost chillingly quiet and they didn't know how to react on it.

"Are you sure about this?", Spencer asked Aaron again, tapping with his foot as he did.

Aaron looked at him. "I know that you are capable of it."

Spencer took a deep breath. "It's a big responsibility."

"It will be good for you. And you can call Mateo any time if you need help. He will understand."

Spencer smiled. "Or you."

Aaron tried smiling. "Not yet."

Spencer looked around, wanting not to talk about the problems that had been troubling Hotch, and everyone else, for a week. "Jake is at Jessica's?"

"Yes."

"It will be OK, Hotch."

"Thank you", Aaron said. He groaned. "I hope so. You aren't supposed to be talking to me now."

"This is not official."

Spencer reached down and, somehow uncertainly, picked up a grocery bag, that he put on the table in front of his mentor. Aaron twitched.

"Garcia's sending you another gift basket", he said shyly.

Aaron chuckled. Almost.

#

Will stood in front of JJ as she pulled her purse over her shoulder, in the same time straightening her shirt. He looked concerned. An early morning sun shone at his face. "Are you sure about this?", he asked, sounding worried.

JJ rolled her eyes. "A week has passed. Will. I am fine. The baby is fine. I've been through worse. I'm ready to get back to work." She looked around, her gazing falling on Henry sitting at the dining room table, eating her cereal without much apetite. "I'm more upset about him", she said, a pained look on her face.

"JJ...", Will said warmly, ignoring the lump that had formed in his throat.

"He can't sleep at night, Will", JJ whispered, her eyes watery. "He thinks that that woman will come back and murder him. Murder us."

Will looked her in the eyes, putting his hands on her shoulders. "I've found some child therapist, he can talk to them. And who knows? Maybe it will just pass. Kaley is gone." He formed a small smile.

"And Aaron..."

Will held her hand, making her turn to face him again. "Hey. Everything will be alright."

"He wouldn't have shot her if she hadn't pointed a gun at him. know that, Will." She blinked back her tears. "But... the gun was found outside. That way, it would appear that she disposed of it before rushing into the building and that she was unarmed when he shot her. I can't explain that."

Will could say nothing in return, offer no solution. He just hugged her.

#

Like many times that week, Aaron found himself sitting in Mateo Cruz's office that afternoon, ignoring the curious looks from the passers by through the windows. They didn't arrange the appointment, and even Aaron didn't know what was he doing there, but it didn't matter.

Aaron sat on the couch while Mateo said in an armchair opposite to him.

At first, nobody said a word.

"Am I going to have to re tell you the whole case again or can we just get straight to the point."

Aaron didn't answer. But Mateo knew what he meant. "They searched her house."

Aaron continued looking him in the eyes, without making a sound or moving.

"There was a secret compartment inside her closet, behind the back wall", said carefully.

Aaron flinched, but said nothing.

Mateo sighed. "Filled with disguises. Wigs, make up, uniforms... she bought them in several different costume stores throughout the city and paid in cash."

Aaron nodded his head and looked down at the floor. He ran his hands through his hair. Mateo waited for a few moments before continuing.

"She probably first bought them as a countermeasure while stalking the families, then used some of it after murdering Daniele and probably some of the uniforms in order to further ease herself access into the victim's homes", he concluded, trying to sound casual. "There was a secret browser in her computer. Containing the recordings of the sessions. She had a back up recordings on a tape recorder hidden under the floor boards in her bedroom."

Aaron looked up at him, his facial expression pained but stern. "Continue."

"We found an old jewelry box containing the rings that she had taken from the victims. Hidden in an air vent in her bedroom."

"In her jacket, there was a device used to disable a vireless Internet, phone and GPS signal. Probably obtained from Selma. That is why you couldn't track down JJ via her phone or GPS signal. And there was a hand drill. Kaley used it to pick a lock on JJ's car trunk, leaving barely a clue. That is how she sneaked inside. The device also disabled the car alarm system."

Mateo looked to the side for a moment. "There was a notebook and a file under the mattress. Informations that she had written about the victims while stalking them. Informations about her other... future victims. She had seven more agents on her list. Well, their families."

"She could have killed me. Only me and her, face to face."

"Exactly, Aaron. Only you and her. She can't tell her version of the story. And if it was just you and her, and she had the gun with her, where did it go?"

Aaron was confused. "M... maybe she had another gun..."

Mateo glared at him. "Another Glock 9mm? Unlikely. And again: where did it go?" "Because the gun used in the murders was found in a dumpster near the building."

"I don't know!", Aaron cried. He shuddered and took a breath, trying to calm himself down, replaying the memory in his head. "I... I got sick. After... after I shot her." He rubbed his eyes. "There was a bathroom near by... I threw up. I was breathing heavily... I was there for about a minute before returning... I had to sit down, I almost knocked over the couch... soon after Derek walked in." He widened his eyes and clasped his hands together. "Sometime during that minute, the gun disappeared. I mean, ended up in a dumpster." He took a breath. "But I'm sure that she had the gun. She pulled it out, pointed it at me... I had no choice but to shoot her. So I did."

"And you are sure that nobody else was around?", Mateo asked that question again, already knowing the answer.

Aaron took a moment to think things over, shivering. "I didn't see anyone."

Mateo fondled his hands together. "I will do my best, Aaron. The internal control is conducting their investigation. I am overseeing it as much as I can, I know the lead investigator. And I still can't believe that you would do such a thing. I don't. But if the evidence ultimately say otherwise, there will be consequences. We will be at your side, we all will, but there will be consequences."

Aaron nodded his head and buried his face in his hands, a faint sob escaping his lips. Mateo sighed. "Are you seeing a therapist?"

Aaron rubbed his eyes and leaned back in the couch. "Yes, well I have to know, but we haven't made much progress yet."

Mateo looked around, then leaned over, choosing his words carefully. "I have to warn you, Hotch: this could turn ugly very fast. You are close to being an official murder suspect."

Aaron said nothing in return.

#

Spencer was the one to get into the conference room the last, followed by Garcia. They both rushed to stand in front of the screen on the wall, only turning to face their colleagues after they had reached that spot. Spencer smiled awkwardly and Garcia gulped.

"Hi", he whispered, then looked around, as if looking for something. Garcia glared at him, but looked down at her tablet when he didn't notice.

Derek chuckled despite the circumstances. "Relax, kid."

JJ smiled. "You'll do fine."

Spencer looked up and blushed. He and Penelope exchanged a look before she pressed at the remote. Crime scene photographs showing a young blonde woman laying dead on the curb appeared on the monitor as Spencer walked to the middle of the room and began his summation, trying to make sure he wouldn't miss anything. "Two days ago twenty years old Ella Smith walked up to the entrance way to "Literature", an elite Manhattan bank, at the moment when two CEOs, Neven Heffernan and Howard Monroe, were walking inside, and pulled out a gun. She only got to fire one shot that grazed Neven's arm before the security personnel gunned her down. The ambulance was called, but she bled out before it arrived, unable to shed any light to the situation", he finished with a groan.

JJ leaned back in her chair. "Maybe she was somehow forced to take such an action."

Spencer shook his head, appearing more confident. "Doubtful. No criminal record, nothing suspicious found on her or in her car, that was found parked near by. All of her family and friends have been accounted for. No other apparent injuries other than the gunshot wounds. And... we have a video of the shooting."

Garcia grimaced as she pressed at the "Play" button, and then shut her eyes before moving to the corner.

The video started playing.

Ella was walking toward the door.

One step. Another step. Nobody was noticing her.

Then she pulled out the gun from her pocket.

Gasps. CEOs turned towards her and froze. Even the security guards were startled.

"This is for Michelle!", she cried.

Ella pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed Neven's arm. He moaned and fell on the ground, holding at his wound.

The security guard fired.

Once. Twice. Straight in her chest.

The second security guard hit her in the shoulder.

She fell down on the ground, face up, instantly incapitated, the gun falling from her hand.

The screen turned black.

Spencer turned towards the table, his hands on his hips. "You see? A little tense but confident. Concentrated. Even when the security guards pulled out their guns."

"Who recorded this? It looks pretty high quality."

"A crew from the local TV station was there. There are also security camera tapes, but this is the best footage."

JJ scoffed. "They just allowed them that?"

David grinned. "A legal loophole. Standing at the curb, before the official opening time. They couldn't do them anything."

"Ella did call in sick that morning, saying she had to miss the college lessons. And she had called in sick a few times before during the last two months. No recorded to the doctor though. The autopsy is still in progress"

"What about the gun?", David asked, studying the images on the screen with an interest.

"I was getting there. She used a M1911 handgun. Antique piece from World War Two. The serial number was scratched out, only usable fingerprints found on it matched to Ella herself. They ran the striations from the bullet that had wounded Neven through IBIS and found a match."

"And that is where the plot thickens like a bad pudding. There was a much found. The gun that Ella used is the same as the one used to commit the murders attributed to... "The Invisible Gunman", also known as "The Phantom".

A silence fell over the room. JJ looked shocked. They all exchanged glances as if waiting for that things be revealed as a mistake, but that never happened. "Yup", Spencer mumbled, pacing a bit from left to right.

"One of the first serial killers active in New York", David explained, trying to sort his thoughts. "1960. Four victims in three month span. Never caught."

"They had the data on the ballistics in IBIS even after all these years?", JJ asked, sounding surprised.

Spencer nodded his head. "A year ago a dead bed confession helped clear a forty year old unsolved murder case. They had to pull out a ballistic report in order to confirm some of the details of the story. They've upgraded their IBIS database following that case. Some of the informations stored in there now date up to seventy years ago."

"Did Ella have any relations to the victim's families? The suspects? Their families?", JJ wondered more than asked.

"According to this, no", Derek said, reading the file. "They only moved to Manhattan five years ago. The closest thing they have ever had to a family there is a now deceased grandfather who lived in New Jersey, where he moved in a year after the murders."

"And neither she nor her family had anything to do with bank. They both even lived in a different part of Manhattan", Spencer added. "And nobody knows what "This is for Michelle" meant. No friends or relatives of that name. So far the bank refuses to disclose the information about their clients."

"And how would she even know when they would get there?", Derek questions. Nobody could answer that.

Penelope bit her lip, suddenly a little pale looking. "And there's more. In 1960, a witness reported seeing a woman running down the street near the first murder scene at the approximate time of the murder. Never identified. A composite sketch was made." She turned toward the screen, raising her hand up. "Gaze upon it."

She clicked at the remote. A yellow, wrinkled piece of paper appeared on the screen: the pretty well drawn sketch of a young, round faced Caucasian woman with long hair appeared on the screen.

Another click. A photograph of Ella, taken at the time she was still alive, also appeared on the screen, next to the composite sketch. The resemblance was almost unbelievable. Facial features, eyes, hair, even lips. JJ felt a chill rush through her, and even Derek felt something cold seep down his stomach. Garcia quickly turned away from the photograph.

"OK, that's really creepy", JJ exclaimed, her jaw going slack.

"I agree", David muttered.

"And we have to find a solution", Spencer exclaimed. "So... wheels up in..." He stopped, looking away, and coughed a little. "This is hard", he whispered. His eyes were red once he turned forward. "Let's go!", he said, picking up his file and the tablet and heading to the door, followed by Penelope and then the others.

#

The grey haired man was sitting lazily in an armchair in his small living room, slumped in front of the TV. The news were on. One particular news interested him. He felt himself sweat as the reporter droned on.

"There are still no much new information about the bizarre incident that had taken place in front of the "Literature" bank early yesterday morning. The police still hasn't been able to uncover the motive for the crime. Ella Smith's parents have declined the offer for an interview..."

The man turned the TV off and stood up. He quickly walked into his room and closed and locked the door behind. He pulled a scrap book out of his writing desk drawer, sat at the desk and opened it, breathing in as he read the first page, more exactly an article on a worn off news paper.

"Alan Mathews amd his soon Keith found murdered in Alan's Manhattan home"

The man smiled and ran his fingers carefully over the page.

~OPENING ROLES AND CREDITS~


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I don't own any of the Criminal Minds characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistake, English is not my native language.**

 **Peter Lewis appeared in the episode 10x21, "Mr. Scratch".**

Spencer Reid: _When you know what a man wants you know who he is, and how to move him._ George R.R. Martin

The ride to Manhattan was surprisingly silent and somewhat awkward. Derek was sitting beside JJ and David was sitting beside Spencer, the airplane feeling strangely empty. Spencer was reading the files but kept looking around, unsure of what to do or how to behave. He wasn't used to being a leader. He almost chuckled at how ridiculous that sounded, but the thought of what was happening to Hotch prevented that.

Finally, he decided to start a conversation. By talking about a case, of course. He looked at his colleagues and put his file away.

"First two victims. Alan Matthews, fifty eight, and his son Keith Matthews, thirty. Found murdered at Alan's home. Alan was an owner of a private movie studio. Quite successfull at the time. His son was an actor. Started out as a clerk in his father's movie studio. Came there for the Thanksgiving. Apparently, the unsub had tied them to the chairs and kept pistol whipping them until they, or one of them, revealed the location of the home valut and it's combination. He then shot them multiple times in the head and chest, killing them. The housemaid found the bodies the next morning."

JJ sighed. "Very... personal method of murder."

Derek frowned, thinking back on the autopsy report. "Alan, unlike his son, had a bruise on his right shoulder and one on his neck, shaped like a muzzle of the gun, a wound on the back of his head, and rope burns on the inner sides of his fingers and palms."

"And bindings were different then Alan's or Tania's", Spencer said, raising his head up from the file. He shifted in his seat and rubbed his chin.

"The killer must have broken in and first attacked the older man. Forced him to bind his son to the chair and had him. The unsub then knocked him off with the gun handle, bind and gagged him too, waited for him to wake up, and started."

"Their neighbor, who was coming home late for a fundraiser, described the woman", Spencer said. "He had an alibi. He is dead now."

"Tania Stanworth, forty five", Derek read, going through the sutopsy report. "One of the first female journalists at the time. Started working in mid 1940s." He looked up and took a sip of water. "The unsub sneaked in passed the security guard during a shift change. It was late, Tania was the only one in the agency. She would often stay working left. The unsub knocked her to the ground, bind her wrists with the rope, gagged her with a cloth, ripped her clothes off, beat her up, raped her, and murdered her by shooting her multiple times in the face and chest. He emptied the cash box, took about five thousand dollars with him."

"File cabinets had been ransacked too", JJ noted, reading her copy of the report.

"But nothing appeared to have been missing", David noticed. He was probably just looking for valuables."

David leaned himself against the armrest and closed his file, a recently read information still fresh in his mind. "Raymond Kamps, fifty, a homicide detective", he mused. "Didn't work on the murders though, he was working at the different precinct. Apparently, the killer was lying in wait near Raymond's home. When Raymond parked his car in the yard and stepped outside, the killer approached him and murdered him before Raymond was even able to pull his weapon. He took Raymond's gun too, as a trophy. By the time his wife had gone outside, the killer was already gone."

"The last murder", JJ noted.

"And all of the murders were exactly a month apart", David chimmed in.

"Maybe the unsub wanted to taunt the police before going off the grind", Derek suggested.

"They tried performing a DNA testing in 1995, but all of the samples have been misplaced or too degrated by then."

A short silence ensued. David took a sip of water. JJ ran a hand through her hair.

"So... I think me and David should go to the precinct, get a heads up, and Derek and JJ could go search the victim's apartment."

Everyone just nodded their hands or whispered an answer. Spencer went on to reading a file, still unsure about the whole thing.

#

Rachel Dawson was the chief on the Internal control unit assigned to looking into Hotchner's case: she had a long curly blonde hair and blue eyes that Mateo would find strangely... eticing. Mateo had talked to her a few times before, and although she wasn't revealing much information, it was helpful. It was the time to come clean, see how exactly things were looking for Hotch, once most of the forensic tests were done.

And he knew where to find her: in what office to look for and when. However, when he walked in (and the door was opened as usual) she was about to leave, putting her purse over her shoulder. Her desk was filled with files, walls in the office were pointed light yellow and the book shelf on the wall behind her desk was mostly filled with legal books and serial killer biographies.

"Hi, Rachel", Mateo smiled, trying not to sound surprised.

"Hi, Mateo", she replied. "I have to go to the file room, take some more info." Mateo tried walking over to her, but she moved past him. His eyes landed on her desk, on several pieces of paper sticking out of the file that had been laying on it. "We could talk later..."

"You are looking into George Foyet case?", he asked, making Rachel stop in her tracks.

Rachel cringed as she felt herself shiver. She took a deep breath, then looked Mateo in the eyes. "The Internal control investigation on that one was almost non existent."

"Because there was nothing to investigate!", Mateo cried. "A prolific serial killer broke inside his house, killed his ex wife, threatened to hurt his son!"

"The man was viciously beaten to death!", Rachel snapped.

Mateo bit his lower lip, trying to stay calm. "Hotch had injuries too."

"What about Peter Lewis?"

Mateo scoffed. "What, you are going to pin him a police brutality on that one too?"

Rachel sighed. "No. In that case it was the other way around." She put her hands on her hips. "But it could affect Hotch's... credibility."

Mateo looked away, drops of sweat appearing on his forehead.

"What Peter did to those people is... indescribable. Other than five murders and hacking into FBI computer system, he is also being charged with assaulting a federal agent and an assault with a deadly weapon. And yet Hotch's statement is sealed. As well as most of his hospital records recorded that night."

Mateo sighed and looked away. Then he took a step closer to Rebecca and lowered his voice. He looked her in the eyes.

"How about this. Before you start putting his life under a microscope, how about you take one more look at the evidence you have so far. And the crime scene. With me."

Rachel tilted her head to the side. "Mateo..."

"Please. You never know... you don't honestly think that he would just shoot her, right?"

Rachel took a moment to think things over and licked her lips before making her decision, ignoring the fear over the result. "OK."

#

Within an hour, David and Spencer were shaking hands with the detective Anthony Redding in the precinct. He looked pale, with black circlees under his eyes. "Thank you so much for coming here. This whole thing is crazy."

"How is the investigation going so far?"

"Badly. Once more, we were unable to get a warrant for bank records. Our guys are going through the, trying to find as many information about that guy as possible." He took a look at the near by interrogation room. "The parents knew that you were coming. They are here. Be warned: they aren't taking this well."

And he was right.

"For the last time, our daughter would have never done such a thing!", Elliot cried as soon as Spencer asked the first question.

"I'm afraid that there is a recording that proved that the shooting was justifiable", Spencer said, carefully.

"Then somebody must have forced her!", Elliot cried. "Or blackmailed her or something."

Melany was staring aimlessly in front of herself, her eyes full of tears. "She was such a good girl. Gentle. Full of life. I don't understand it..."

"Was she acting out of the ordinary lately?", David asked. "Any hints of anything being wrong?"

Elliot shook his head. "No. She sounded... happy. Excited. Even the last time we heard from her, the day before."

David pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket and showed it to Melany. "Do you have any idea who this woman could be?", he asked.

Melany took the drawing with a shaky hand and smiled sadly, followed by Elliot. "She looks so much like Ella", she said. David shivered, while Spencer felt goose bumps go up his neck.

#

Derek and JJ tried hard to find something that would explain her actions, bring some closure to her family, but there wasn't any clue to explain her crime, nothing that would indicate that she had snapped for some reason.

It was a typical low profile apartment on campus: small kitchen near the front door, a bit bigger living room on the opposite side, consisting mostly of a couch, TV and a coffee table, and leading to a bedroom behind the big wooden door, and several short, kind of dark hallways.

JJ kept walking back and forth arounf the kitchen, studying the photographs on the walls with a mixture of sadness and curiosity, while Derek was going through the catalogues on the kitchen table, but finding no useful informations by doing so.

"Look at the photographs", JJ suddenly exclaimed, catching Derek's attention. She had become... different shortly before her death. Thinner. More make up on." Derek walked over. "Not doing much of her schoolwork either", she concluded while looking at the unfinished Math equation on the piece of paper on the table.

"According to the parents and her friends, she wasn't seeing anyone", Derek remembered. "Judging by her phone records, she was only communicating with her friends and parents."

They moved to the bedroom next. It was small but nicely decorated: bed on the middle, writing desk on the left and a closet to the right, with posters all over the walls, mostly featuring pop stars. They looked over the space, almost disappointed by the lack of any suspicious idoms. "Nothing in here points that she had ever owned a gun, legally or ilegally", JJ whispered. "No bullets, no gun cleaning kit..."

Derek stopped in front of the writing desk, intrigued by the empty space at the work surface. "Her laptop is missing though", he explained, picking up the charger.

"Well, the lock appeared undisturbed, and her apartment key was found in her car", JJ was considering before stopping in front of the bed and titlting her head at the side. Soon, she was lying face up on the bed, looking back and forth around the room. Derek glared at her, waiting for an explanation but getting none.

"What are you doing?", he asked.

"Ella seemed like a very private girl", JJ said, matter of factly. "She kept her laptop in her bedroom, as well as most of her books and notebooks, had a dead bolt on her bedroom door. If there is anything that could point us to her plans, we will find it here." She stood up and ran her hand through her hair.

"Those evidence would have to be on a very private location... like her bed."

She bent over and looked under the bed, while Derek lifted the mattress. "Nothing under it..."

"Or under the mattress...", Derek said.

"Or between the sheets...", JJ said, going through the sheets.

"Or in the pillow cases...", Derek sighed as he pulled the smooth fabric off.

"All of the other posters are placed facing toward the sides of her bed, except for this one", Derek noticed, and, soon enough, they both carefully remove the poster from the wall and laid it down on the bed, with the back side facing up.

They immediately noticed a piece of paper and a small square shaped prospect taped to the surface with pieces of scotch tape.

"A prospect flyer and a business card", Derek concluded.

"Issued from a local firing range", JJ read. They exchanged a look. "It looks like she wasn't that calm and innocent after all."

They slowly walked out of the room, with JJ storing the evidence into an evidence bag, feeling even more down. Just in case, Derek took one more look in the drawers, then went into the bathroom and looked into the cabinet.

"Most of the make up in her bedroom drawers and bathroom cabinet is pretty expensive", he informed JJ, who took a closer look at the newspapers on the victim's dining room table. "And recently purchased."

JJ looked up briefly. "I've only managed to find about two hundred dollars in her apartment. No recent activity on her bank account." She lifted up the newspapers, showing the cut outs inside. "And it looks like she was, to put it this way, borderline addicted to this coupons."

Derek's ringtone went off. He pulled out his phone and, seeing that it was Penelope, answered.

"Talk to me, baby girl."

Penelope almost sounded panicked. "I started looking into Ella. At least, I tried to. Facebook, gmail account... it is all gone!"

"Gone?"

"Deleted! Barely an hour after her death. All of it. I've managed to track the IP address to a local internet cafe. I also tried tracking her phone signal, but no luck. It is either broken or turned off."

"Were you able to recover something?"

Penelope moaned. "I'm still trying, but I'm afraid that's doubtful. I'll talk to you later." she ended the call sooner than he had expected. His eyes met JJ's.

"Somebody deleted all of Ella's social media sites. The answers are there."

#

Spencer Reid couldn't help but admire a green Cabriolet in the evidence storage room, though David was finding it much more interesting from the collectionist's point of view. "This is a pretty old fashioned car", he exclaimed, studying it carefully.

Davod nodded his head, admiring the vehicle in front of him. "The girl had a good taste."

Spencer looked up at David, eyes wide. "You can't even install a high quality alarm in it", he said excitedly. "The ones that you can, like this one, are pretty old fashioned." He pointed at the alarm button inside the car. "You have to turn them on and off. This one is turned off. And, according to the police report, it was that way when the car was found."

They both leaned over, looking at the grey device closely.

"Look. She had the alarm installed right next to the driver's side door", Spencer noted, then pointed at the control board. "Used the stick to block the steering wheel." He stood up straight and looked over the car again, followed by David. "This car is clean, tidy. Almost spotless. She was obviously very careful about it. Then why would she use the stick to block the steering wheel, lock all the doors behind, but forget to turn the alarm on?"

"Maybe she was too nervous", David suggested. "Maybe it was a suicide mission."

"Then why bother with locking the door and putting the stick on?", Spencer disagreed. "Why did she appear to be so confident and calm upon approaching the CEOs." "Something here doesn't add up."

David's ringtone went off. He pulled out his phone and answered the call as he moved to the side, while Spencer continued fixating himiself on the car.

"Hallo?" "OK, thank you." He walked back over to Spencer.

"The lead detective on the case is still alive. Kyle Kamps. Now retired. Eight five years old. We should talk to him."

#

Kyle Kamps looked surprisingly well for his age. He had put on a lot of weight and barely had any hair well, but had no troubles speaking and didn't even have to wear eyeglasses. He was lying in an armchair in a living room while Spencer and David had a seat on the sofa opposite to him. The house seemed like frozen in time: everything looked like from the 70s the latest.

"First serial killer we had", Kyle mused. "And he got away." "Not a day goes by that I don't think about it." He blushed. "You think that was him?"

"We doubt it", Spencer admitted. "But somebody who knows him or knew him could be involved."

Kyle nodded his head. "I've figured. Finally, he's back." He took a deep breath. "I've always had a feeling that would happen."

"Did you ever get close to identifying the girl seem near the first murder scene?", David asked.

"No", Kyle admitted, sounding embarrassed. "Many rich people lived there... some of them had mistresses... and poorer neighborhoods weren't that far away... lots of prostitutes..."

"What are your theories?", Spencer asked, surprising both men, and himself.

Kyle sighed. A frown appeared on his face. "There was that... punk back then", he said in a soar voice. "Twenty year old. Anthony... Anthony Willson." Cyrus coughed. "Basically homeless. Several burglary and assault arrests. He lived near the second murder scene and was allegedly bragging about the murders. But he died in 1994." He rubbed his eyes. "Not the best suspect. But the only strong one we have ever had. I always felt that there was something more to him." He looked up at the ceiling. "I think that some of his friends are still alive. But they are probably in worse condition than me."

"Wife? Relatives? Anything?", David asked.

Kyle scratched his head. "If the memory servers me right, they are all dead by now." "But I've always felt that the victims were connected ih some way. That it was personal."

David gazed at him. "Because of the different victim types?"

"Yeah. But we have never made the connection. Maybe you will be more lucky."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I don't own any of the Criminal Minds characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **HbPlease forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

Aaron sat on the living room sofa and rubbed his eyes. He felt a void in his stomach due to the fact that he still hadn't eaten a breakfast, but he didn't care. He stretched out and sighed.

 _Kaley smirked at Aaron as she was studying his facial expression closely. "I think that, while she was lying there in pain, certainly thinking that that monster was going to cut your precious little boy to the ribbons as soon as she would take her last breath, the last thing going through her mind was: "I wish I have never married him! This is all his fault!"_

Aaron frowned, then gritted his teeth. The color left his face.

 _He felt drops of sweat rolling down his face as he increased his grip on the gun. Kaley smiled at him mockingly. Aaron's eyes trailed down to her hands._

Aaron stood up, a fury overtaking him, and groaned. He took a moment to try to calm down and think back at the events, but it felt like a gut punch to even try envisioning that situation. He buried his face in his hands and cried.

#

Neven Heffernan was shifting uncomfortably in his chair, where he was sitting opposite to David and JJ. His right sleeve was partially rolled up and the bloody gauze was noticeable, lined up against his skin. He was breathing heavily, often scratching his head.

"I've never seen that girl before", he claimed and shrugged. "I have no idea why would she do such a thing."

"Does a name Michele mean anything to you?", JJ asked.

Neven thought about that for a moment. "We probably have a few clients and employees with that name, we are a busy bank. But I don't know how that relates to that girl."

"Why did you two go to the bank so early in the morning?", David asked.

"We were about two close a deal with one successful company. Me and Howard were two most important links in that business. We had to get some finishing work ready. We keep most of the information at the bank, in our offices. It is safer that way."

"What kind of a company were you working with?", JJ asked.

"Andrews&Hinner incorporated", Neven said carefully. "But I can't give you anymore information."

"Do you know any client that may have a grudge against you?", David asked.

"We are doing our best. There will always be dissatisfied people", Neven said, spreading his hands. "We keep all the threats we receive. Our secretary will give them to you."

#

Howard Monroe staid calm as he looked at Derek and then back at Spencer, sitting at the table in the interrogation room, opposite to them. He still had a carefully kept beard and a nice suit on, and didn't seem concerned at all. "Our bank records, most of them, are extremely confidential", he said, politely and professionally. "I'm sorry, but we can't risk giving them to you. It only takes a single mistake for the data or at least a part of it to be jeopardized. And even if that doesn't happen, if our clients find out, they will not be happy."

Spencer glared at him. "You do understand we are dealing with a murder here, mr. Monroe?"

Howard managed a smile. "As far as I know, ms. Smith's death is considered to be a result of a self defense."

"But still not officially ruled to be one", Spencer reminded him. "And we still have to determine her motive."

"We have made the inventour and believe me, neither Ella Smith or anyone close to her had anything to do with this bank dating back ten years."

"Too bad we can't just take your word to it."

Derek shrugged. "No offense, just... the girl gets killed by your security personnel in front of the witnesses and cameras after shooting at you and only causing a minor injury to your colleague..." He looked Howard in the eyes. "Little too convenient, don't you think?"

Howard leaned over, lowering his voice. "Believe me, I had decided to kill that girl, I wouldn't have been stupid enough to get my work involved in it. Let alone be at the scene at the time." "And you know that laws are pretty much grey area in situations. Privacy police versus investigation purposes... FBI agents versus rich clients... that sorts"

A short silence ensued. Derek clenched his fists. "We are working on getting a warrant for your data."

Howard smirked. "Good luck with that."

Spencer's ringtone went off. He pulled put his phone and quickl read the text before turning to face Derek. "The autopsy has been done", he whispered.

#

Mateo inhaled sharply while Rachel sighed. So they were there, on a place where Kaley Green had been murdered a week ago. By Aaron Hotchner. Trying to find something to exonarate him, to prove that he hadn't snapped and murdered her following a non violent provocation. Even after a week had passed and the crime scene had been cleaned by then.

"Most of usable fingerprints found in the room matched to Aaron", Mateo remisced, looking through thr window for a moment. "A few other usable fingerprints and traces of DNA were matched to local people, mostly homeless people amd drug addicts."

"And they all denied any involvement and they all have alibies", Rachel pointed out, somewhat bitterly. "And Aaron claims that nobody else was at the apartment or at the stair well."

Mateo sighed. "Too bad there aren't any security cameras in here or around... there is one near the entry way, but it is broken." He ran a hand through his hair. "Forensic examination revealed traces of gunshot residue on both Aaron's hands and clothing and Kaley's gloves and clothing. Ballistics linked the Glock with the murders and the bullets fired during the chase, and determined that it had been recently fired. But there were-are-no signs of a struggle here, no injuries on neither Aaron or Kaley, or the evidence of a shoot out taking place here. They found no usable fingerprints or the other evidence on the Glock either." He wanted to add something, but ended up just sighing and shooking his head. Rachek stopped and looked at him, weighing the words carefully in her head. "I do care about him, really", she said softly. Mateo sighed, but didn't turn towards her. "But this is really going nowhere. Aaron needs our support. But not this way. And he needs a lawyer."

Mateo forced a nod and took another, tired look around the room... and widened his eyes.

His gaze stopping at the small closet near the door.

Rachel glared at him, unsure of what he had come up with?

"What about this closet?", Mateo asked, smiling slightly.

Rachel turned to look at it. "It is very small. It wound br hard for anyone to hide in there."

"But not impossible", Mateo said determinently.

Rachel turned to meet Mateo's eyes. "Also, there is no room. It is positioned directly behind the couch, now and back then, judging by the crime scene photos, there is no room."

"But I talked to Aaron today. He mentioned something he didn't remember before. He accidentally moved to couch before sitting on it. Maybe the couch was in a different position before he went to the bathroom."

Rachel took a look at the couch, then studied that hardwood surface near by. "Well, the couch looks slightly askew. And there are some scuff marks on the floor."

Without saying another word, she and Mateo moved couch to the side, then opened the closet. The smell of dust and rotten wood rushed up ther nostrils, making them cringe. The only things they could see were dark walls and some old newspapers.

"We'll have to send forensics to examine this closely, but I don't think there are much evidence here", Rachel concluded sadly.

Mateo was about to agree, when he noticed something in a corner. "Wait..."

He leaned over. There was something stuck in the area between the bottom of the closet and one of the side walls, a piece of fabric. He pulled out his phone and snapped a photograph, then carefully pulled the evidence out with his own and held or out for Rachel.

"A bow", she said. "With teeth marks. The kind that drug addicts wrap around their head before shooting up.

Mateo smiled. "It is pretty clean. It must have been left here recently." He looked at it. "No longer than week ago, I daresay."

#

Spencer looked down at the autopsy table as the M.E. pulled the sheet down, revealing Ella's face and a part of her chest, the Y shaped cut spreading down her body. Derek crossed his arms over his chest as M.E. adjusted her gloves.

"There's no doubt about the cause of that", she exclaimed. "Gunshot wounds to the chest. One went right through her ribcage."

"What about a tox screen?", Spencer asked, sounding intrigued.

M.E. shook her head. "All clean. No alcohol, drugs, poisons, nothing. But her leukocyte level was unusually low. And her stomach was almost completely empty."

Derek and Spencer exchanged a look. M.E. leaned closer and pulled the victim's mouth open, exposing her teeth. It didn't take long for agents to notice the grey marks on the inner sides. "She had been gritting her teeth a lot lately", M.E. explained. "A sign of stress." She closed Ella's mouth and ran a finger down her face. "Upon examining her body, I noticed something strange on her face and hands... a discoloration. That was due to a heavy make up. Some of it smeared while she was being transported here. I sent a sample to trace. Additional swabs taken from her face and hands revealed traces of gunshot residue." She pointed to the bridge of Ella's nose. "After removing it, I noticed this... an eyeglass mark. I guess she had been reading a lot during her last few days."

Derek frowned. "I saw a reading glasses in her apartment. But she didn't have many books there or appeared to have had a lot of schoolwork lately."

M.E. didn't look interested in his observation. "I have found no other injuries, and no traces of a sexual assault or even a recent sexual activity. Nothing under her fingernails either." She pulled the sheet further down and pointed to the gunshot wounds. "Look. Barely any distance between them." Spencer's face lit up as he frowned, slowly putting all the pieces of information in his mind. M.E. looked at Ella's forearm. "And the one ok her shoulder came close to missing it. I may be going on a limb here, but I doubt that this was somehow though ahead or premeditated."

Derek nodded his head. "That is consistent with the video we have seen."

"A movie."

Spencer's words echoed through the room as both people turned to face him, looking perplexed at first, before he elaborated. "Ella thought that she was starring in a movie. She didn't know that the gun was real. That any of that was real and dangerous. It was all an illusion. A fraud."

"That explains everything! Weight loss, withdrawness, disinterest in school, reading a lot, make up, her determination to commit such an act."

"So she was reading a movie script. The killer advised her to read it shortly before the "shooting". And to have her laptop with her and to leave personal idoms in the car. After she left, he sneaked in the car using an extra key and took the movie script and the laptop and the phone."

"Whoever put her up to that also conviced her to lose some weight, fast. For movie purposes, he convinced her. But he actually wanted her to be weaker, lower her immune system so she would bleed out faster, without being able to shed any light to the situation."

"And therefore it was no coincidence that the TV crew was there", Spencer concluded.

Derek nodded his head. "They were there to convince her that the movie was being made."

#

Spencer took a pen in his hand as he looked at the chief of the camera crew, Danny, sitting at the table opposite to him. Danny was a Caucasian man in early thirties, of average height and slightly overweight, with short brown hair, brown eyes, and a smug look on his face. "No offense, but this is the craziest story I've ever heard", he scoffed.

Spencer raised his eyebrows at him. "So, you still claim that the whole thing was a coincidence?"

Danny nodded his head. "Yes."

"And that you were just there?"

"Yes!", Danny cried, almost jumping in his seat. Spencer staid calm. He nodded his head and fondled his hands together. "Very well. Then you will have nothing against you searching your apartment and studio, right?"

A shadow of concern appeared on Danny's face. "I don't like that idea. There are many confidential information in there. And that would delay our work immensely!"

"Well, that's too bad. Because I'm sure I could just call a DA and get a warrant within an hour." He tried to appear indifferent. "I get that you are quite a busy man. So that could take days. And more days going through all that information. News and stories that you may not be able to use after that. What would your boss think? And if we, after all that search, do find something suspicious..."

"OK. OK!", Danny cried.

"What do you mean by that?", Spencer asked.

Danny took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "We received an anonymous tip about a small group of people organizing a protest in front of that bank early in the morning", he said, his tone of voice almost humbling. "There was even a possiblity of them throwing an animal's blood on some CEOs." His face flushed. "You don't miss such an opportunity! That is why we were there."

"So, somebody just calls you, tells you that crazy story and you buy it?", Spencer asked, trying to sound suspicious of the story.

Danny grimaced, like he expected such disbelief. "He sent me a private message on Facebook. He sounded convincing. Serious. And there were the evidence. Photographs of transparents and bottles of animal's blood. Printed news articles about the bank. That all came with the message." He bit his lip. "And that wasn't the first time that guy helped us, so..."

Spencer frowned. "How do you mean?"

Danny sighed. "A few weeks ago the guy with the same username sent me an information about some rich man's car being vandalised. We went there and it turned out to be legit. We got the news. I thought, we may as well give it another try. We did." He looked away. "We shouldn't have."

#

When Derek walked into the workroom with a cup of coffee in his han, he was stunned to find JJ there, sitting at the desk in front of the bunch of papers. He slowly walked over to her: she simply whispered "Hi" and went back to work. He looked at the papers and realized those were the old news clippings and police reports. "You looking into The Phantom case?"

"Yes", JJ said, not looking up. "They do have digital back up files on most of this, but many information can only be found in the archive."

Derek glared at her, moving a step closer. "Are you OK?"

JJ smiled slightly and nodded her head. "I am."

Derek looked around. "You can talk... about what happened. If you want."

JJ smiled slightly. "I know. And I will be OK, Derek. I'n a strong girl."

Just Derek returned the smile, his ringtone went off. He pulled his phone out and answered the call, immediately putting Garcia on the speaker. "Hi there", hi smiled.

"Hello, my pet peeves!", she said cheerfully. JJ chuckled. "Anyway... things got weird. That Facebook profile has been deleted as of recently too. I've managed to recover the information about IP address and it turns out that the guy has several high quality servers used to conceal it. And one interesting information. Tania Stanworth was divorced. She had a part time custody over her daughter, ten year old at the time. However, there are no records of her since she turned eighteen. She probably changed her name. I am currently working on tracking her down. If she is still alive, she may be able to shed some light on the situation."

#

Nathan Brooks pulled his car to the side of the road and took his seat belt off, groaning as he pulled out the key. He was near a small forest, a ditch to the side. He leaned his head against the head rest. The night was nicely bright, although cold. He didn't see the person he was supposed to meet anywhere near by, but he got there early so...

He didn't even hear the footsteps approaching. He just closed his eyes and tried to rest before meeting with his girlfriend. He was tired and even uncertain about meeting with her there, that late, but it sounded important.

The unsub slowly pulled the gun out after coming barely inches away from the car. The shadovy figure shivered upon stepping on some rocks, making a cracking sound.

Nathan opened his eyes at the sound and looked through the driver's side window. His eyes widened as his jaw went slack.

He didn't get the chance to scream, because the unsub shot him in the head. And again. And again. And again.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I don't own any of the Criminal Minds characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.**

Aaron stretched himself out on the couch and looked up at the ceiling, trying to think of what to say. The walls in the theraphist's office were painted bright yellow and there was a nice view to the city panorama. She, an African American woman in early forties, that he only knew as dr. Reagan, crossed her legs any adjusted her hold on the notepad as she spoke, after apparently considering between opening with a question and waiting for him to start.

"Any... improvements today, Aaron?", she asked carefully.

Aaron sighed, almost cringing at the question. "No", he said in a hoarse voice. "I've tried to remember, I've really tried, but..." He didn't finish the sentence and just sighed.

Dr. Reagan ran a hand through her hair and looked over her notes. She though about writing something down, but changed her mind. "Let's put a vague memory aside", she said instead. "How do you feel about this?"

Aaron felt himself shiver. "I... I don't know, to be honest", he admitted.

Dr. Reagan twirled with the pen in her hand. "I mean, about what you are accused of." Aarok flinched. The therapist remained silent for a moment. "Do you think that you would be able to commit such a thing?"

Aaron looked at her with a mixture of confusion and disappointment on his face. He clasped his hands. She continued. "It's just... sometimes you can remember Kaley holding the gun, sometimes you are not sure, but you are sure that nobody else was there... that can be due to stress... or a guilty conscience."

Alan looked away, feeling something go up his throat. "I... I am almost sure that I could never do something like that." He shuddered. "Almost." He bit his lower lip and his eyes watered up. "But this is confusing." He rubbed his eyes. Dr. Reagan gazed at him sympathetically. "I just want this to be over with", he admitted, almost laughing at how childlish that wish had sounded.

"It will be over, Aaron", his therapist said softly. "You have people who will be by your side no matter what happens. You just have to believe in yourself and keep trying." She stopped, allowing the words to sink in. "Open up."

They were just sitting there in silence for almost a whole minute, Aaron's breathing relaxing, before dr. Reagan asked: "I know that this may be too soon... but do you want to talk about Peter Lewis?"

#

The morning was sunny and strangely warm. Spencer Reid adjusted his latex gloves as he walked over to the crime scene, followed by the rest of the BAU team and with the detective Anthony Redding in tow. "Got the ID quickly, via the driver's licence and the licence plates", Anthony explained. "Nathan Brooks, thirty. Worked at the web design company. Found dead in his car. Shot multiple times in the head and chest. No signs of a struggle, must have been a stake out or a blitz attack. M.E. estimates the time of death to be late last night or early this morning, between eleven pm and one am."

They stopped in front of the victim's vehicle and looked inside. Nathan's head was laying to the side, his eyes dull and lifeless, blood coating his face and shirt.

"It is my understanding that you know this murder is connected to Ella Smith case because your guys have found the murder weapon?", Spencer questioned.

Anthony turned around to face him. "Yes... after what had happened, I warned most of my colleagues and responding officers to keep an eye out on any recent shooting deaths, involving multiple gunshot wounds, old guns... forensics found the gun under the car, Glock 9mm. The serial number was still there, so they ran it. It took them a whole to find a match, but eventually they linked or to the data about one of te cold cases... that's the gun The Phantom had stolen from Ryan Kamps, his last victim. And the M.O. matches, shot multiple times in the head and chest."

"Leaving the murder weapon under the car. Pretty sloppy for someone as organised and intelligent", David noted. "It really looks like he wants us to link this to 1960 murders."

"If that is some sort of a forensic countermeasure, it is way too complicated and difficult to pull off", Spencer pointed out.

Anthony took a look at the forensic techs working near by. "Do you think that this could be the same guy?"

Short silence ensued. The team exchanged glances. "It is highly unlikely", Spencer concluded. "He would have to be in his mid seventies by now. At least."

"But it could be a son. Grandson. A friend that he had met later in life", JJ added.

David sighed. "Well, as far as Garcia's been able to research, Anthony Willson has no surviving family, and all of his former cellmates are dead or back in prison by now."

JJ looked around. "This is a pretty isolated area. What was doing here?"

Anthony groaned. "We don't know."

"Maybe the GPS records will shed some light", David theorized.

Anthony looked around. "There aren't any usable shoe prints around, but they found a fresh set of tyre tracks a few feet away." He looked back at the car. "Nothing appears to have been stolen, except for his phone."

"Probably a forensic countermeasure", Spencer suggested. "Maybe he knew his killer."

#

Rachel found Mateo sitting at the desk in his office, a cup of coffee on one side and a half eaten donut on another. He was reading a file and didn't even notice her approaching. She couldn't help but smile slightly before she knocked at the door, that was ajar. Mateo immediately looked up and blushed upon seeing her, looking almost embarassed. He picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth. "Come in", he said, putting some papers away. She did so and sat beside him, putting a file in her own handon her lap.

"Busy morning, huh?", she commented, trying to break any possible tension.

Mateo chuckled nervously. "Yeah."

"Me too", Rachel added, more politely. It looks like Mateo smiled slightly, more genuinely that time, and something twitched inside of her. She opened her file. "They rushed the analysis of that ribbon. No usable fingerprints, some DNA but too degrated. But", she continued quickly, like she didn't want to disappoint him, "I recognized an improvised logo on the ribbon." She couldn't help but feel a satisfaction upon seeing a look of satisfaction on Mateo's face. She handed him the file, pointing at the photograph of the top. Mateo frowned, noticing a small doodle, though carefully drawn, on the end of the ribbon. Rachel continued.

"I had a case in the Narc division a few months ago. Street gang, The Tigers. That is how they mark their theritory. They put the same sign on drug packages too. They are run by a man named Teo Baldrick. Apparently the simbol is to represent a scar that his father had had on his neck. He got killed when Teo was a teenager."

Mateo stumbled upon a copy of Teo's criminal record just at the moment when the words left Rachel's lips. "Many previous arrests for drug related crimes. But he keeps his current business quite clear."

Mateo studied Teo's mugshot. "Pretty big guy. I doubt that he could have been hiding in that closet. And his gang doesn't operate in that neighborhood."

"But some of his clients might. And his gang does operate in several close neighborhoods."

Mateo glared at him. "You think we will be able to pin him?"

"He's a tough guy. But that is the FBI agents we are investigating. Related to a serial killer case." She smirked. "A lot of pressure."

#

By afternoon, most of the agents were at the cafeteria, except for Spencer who had been reading something at his desk for over two hours and Derek who had had something to eat while on the field. Derek was about to sit down when the papers caught his attention. They were yellow in color and appeared to had been written on a typewriter. "What is this?", he asked.

"Redding's guys found this in the archive", Spencer answered. "Some of Anthjby Willson's braggings about the murders have been documented. It looks quite accurate. I don't think he's the killer."

Derek glared at him. "Really?"

Spencer didn't look up. "Uh-huh. His statements are contradictory. One time he claimed that he murdered the homicide detective first, then the journalist. At one occasion he claimed that he "shot the bitch" dead, which would ima that he shot his only female victim once, and yet she, like the others, had been shot multiple times."

Derek sighed. "So, a dead end. He was just a messed up kid boasting over something he hadn't done."

"It looks that way", Spencer muttered.

They remained sitting there in silence for some time. Eventually, Spencer put the papers on the pile, that he then moved to the side.

"Is everything alright?", Derek asked.

Spencer looked up at Derek, confused. "How do you mean."

"It is probably a lot of pressure... all this."

Spencer blushed. "I am not used to being in charge yet", he admitted. "I just... like my job. It is different now. A new level."

"You can always count on our help."

"I know." "I am more worried about Aaron though. Mateo told me that he will keep a heads up with me... no new information for days."

"Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe he is on to something."

Spencer nodded, although not really convinced.

It was then that Derek got a call from Garcia.

He immediately answered it and put Garcia on speaker.

"Talk to me, baby girl", he said smoothly.

"Oh, I will", she said playfully, then quickly turned serious. "I tried to pin point Nathan's phone signal. No luck. Then I contacted the phone company and got a full list often calls made from Nathan's phone dating months back. He was mostly talking to his family, friends, boss, coworkers. But he had been talking a lot with a woman named Bridgette Booth. She called him on the night of his murder at ten pm. She is now divorced and two times during her marriage the police had to be called in due to a "domestic disturbances". And she was convicted of a car theft at the age of nineteen. And she owns a 2007 Sudan."

"We'll have to bring her in for questioning", Spencer decided.

"Sending you the address now. Also, one interesting thing. Somebody rent a vacant apartment a block away from Ella's a month before her death and checked out the day after her death. Was laying in cash. Name listed as "Pat Nohm". Not surprisingly, the guy doesn't exist."

"Derek sighed. "An anagram of "Phantom"."

#

Bridgette kept looking around the interrogation room, a fear evident in her eyes. She shivered once Derek entered the interrogation room, a file in his hand and a stern look on his face. Bridgette felt her mouth go dry when he sat beside her, putting the file down on the table.

"I didn't kill anyone, I swear!", she cried. "This must be a mistake."

Derek remained calm. He opened the file, showing her a photograph of body. Bridgette gulped and clenched her fists.

"Nathan Brooks", Derek exclaimed. "Found dead this morning in a near by neighborhood."

"I have nothing to do with that", Bridgette claimed.

"I bet you also didn't see him before?"

Bridgette just nodded her head. At that point, Derek pulled out a list stacked under the crime scene photographs and put it on the table in front of her. She looked at it, confused.

"Phone records", Derek said. "You had been talking to him over your cellphone a lot during the last few weeks. Including one or two hours before his murder. Probably in order to rule him to that secluded location."

"I didn't!", Bridgette cried, her face turning pale.

At that point, Derek pulled out two photographs and put then on the table in front of Bridgette. One featured her car, the other tyre tracks found on the scene. "Your car matches to the tyre tracks found on the scene. Traces of dirt found on your car tyres match to the elimination samples taken from the scene. GPS records show that you got to the murder scene by 12:05 pm and got back home by one am, starting at 12:07." He then showed her three more photographs:of a shovel, boots and a smartphone covered in dirt. "Traces of dirt found on your boots also match to the elimination samples taken from the scene. They are mixed with the traces of a diiferent type of dirt, that forensics linked to a near by park. Same traces were found on a shovel in your basement and in the trunk of your car. With the help of a specially trained hounds, we recovered a fresh burial sight. We found a phone buried there, turned off. Nathan's phone. You took it so we wouldn't get the phone records, right? But the phone company had all the data."

Bridgette was breathing heavily, her eyes colored with a look of panic. She ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know how those things ended up at my place. I can't explain that. But I didn't kill that man, I swear."

Derek looked at her solemnly. "So, you are saying that you are being framed?"

Bridgette shrugged, her eyes red. "I guess."

"Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?", Derek asked, gently that time.

Bridgette just shook her head.

#

Spencer and JJ were looking over the every inch of the apartment, feeling almost homeless. Spencer ran a finger down an empty bookshelf and JJ smelled one of the couch cushions.

"Everything has been cleaned", Spencer concluded. "With bleach."

"And our mr. Pat Nohm had no contact with the neoghbors", JJ said. She groaned. "Any news about Aaron?"

Spencer shook his head and grimaced. "Not yet." He paced around the room. "I know that we already talked... about what happened to you... but if you want."

JJ smiled. "Thank you, Spence." He returned the smile. "But maybe later." Her face turned serious again and she looked around the room. "I am worried about Aaron now... and, Strange, but I feel like we are close to solving this."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I don't own any of the Criminal Minds characters and I am not making any money from writing this.**

 **Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my natove language.**

 **So, we've reached the end... thank you for reading, I hope that you enjoyed this! Hopefully, the actual episode will be even better. Sorry if this chapter is longer than the rest. Please read and review!**

Everyone was sitting around the table, deep in thought. Spencer pushed a file away and David took a sip of water.

"I doubt that Bridgette is the killer", Derek confessed. "But why would the killer frame her?"

"Forensics finished provedenih Nathan's car", JJ reminded them. "Only his fingerprints and blood in there and on it. GPS records show that he for to the murder scene at 12:04 pm, started driving at 11:19 pm from his home. No stopping except at the traffic lights."

It was then that they received a call from Penelope. Spencer stood up while Derek started pacing around the room.

"As always, my friends, I come bearing gifts!", she cheered. "is now Anne Summers. She lives in Manhattan and owns a bookstore. Sending you the address now!"

They all stood up and grabbed their coats, heading to the door.

#

Mateo and Rachel exchanged a look as they started walking over to the van parked down the street, approaching a stocky Caucasian man that had been standing near by.

"Plumming business, huh?", Mateo mumbled.

"You gotta admit, it's original."

The man, Teo Baldrick, eventually noticed them and a fury sparkled into his eyes. They flashed their badges and introduced themselves. Teo snickered at Rachel and ignored Mateo. "Rachel. Aren't you busy pretending to work somewhere?"

Rachel laughed mockingly. "Teo. Funny as always." She took a step closer. "But now let's get serious and you tell us who purchased the drugs from you a week ago. A guy active in suburban neighborhoods, short."

Teo flinched, but still kept a smile on his face. "You can be pretty funny too."

"This is a federal investigation", Mateo said sternly.

Teo shrugged. "So what?"

Rachel took another step closer. "Our agent is in danger. Do you really want to deny us help?"

"Why shouldn't I? You can't prove anything. You can't even connect me to any drug business."

Rachel pouted her lips and put her hands on her hips. "But we can keep sending some of our guys talk to you every now and them. Question you until the investigation is over. Your friends... associates too."

Teo tried to act tough, but the tension build up in his body, his face turning red. Mateo smirked. "You wouldn't take such risks", Teo hoped.

"We would if we have to save one of our guys", Mateo said seriously, walking over to Teo.

Teo sighed and looked around, then started talking in a whisper. "There was that one guy. Carl Myers. Kinda creepy. Always tries to get the stuff for free. Showed up about a week ago, all of the sudden had money. He purchased some dope, then again a few days later." He chuckled, suddenly more confident. "He even tried to pawn me a watch. I wasn't interested."

#

David pulled out his notepad and a pen as JJ made an eye contact with Anne Summers. They were in Anne Summers' living room, sitting on a sofa, while she was sitting in an armchair opposite to them. She was a tall, slim woman with a pale skin, shoulder length grey hair and warm, nice eyes. The living room was pretty modern in design and there was a big bookcase in the corner.

"I still remember the day she was murdered clearly", Anne whispered. "When I find out that my mother is dead." She took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "And they never found the person who did that."

JJ leaned over, choosing her words carefully. "I know that this is hard for you and that many years have passed. But do you know did your mother have any enemies? Do you remember anything out of the ordinary that had happened some time before her death?"

Anne sighed and smiled sadly. "For some reason, I only remember the good things." She crossed her legs. "I can't even decide is that a blessing or a torture."

"Sometimes our memory plays tricks on us", JJ added wistfully.

Anne nodded her head, her jaw a bit clenched. "That's true", she admitted. She remained silent for some time before she widened her eyes, her face litting up. "I... I remember one thing. It's kinda funny in a sick way." She blushed. "Mom... she was watching TV and commented that it rarely happens that the person that she had interviewed gets murdered."

David frowned. "When did that happen?"

Anne looked at him sadly. "I think, about a month before she got murdered."

#

Spencer pulled out one of the boxes from the shelf in a storage room and placed it on the table. "The only possible solution is that there was a connection between the victims. We know, almost for sure, that Tania Stanworth had interviewed Alan Matthews before. If we find an actual connection, we will find our killer."

David chimmed in. "That is the only clue we have. Bridgette's ex husband has an alibi. He traveled to Florida on a vacation four days ago, still hasn't come back."

"I have Garcia checking all the digital data about the crimes and celebrities dating back to 1930s that she can find", Derek said, walking over.

David lowered another box on the table. "These are some of the copies of the tabloid Tania was writing for. Starting from when she got the job there."

Spencer took a look at all the material and clapped his hands. "On to work!", he exclaimed enthusiastically and sat at the desk, while others rolled their eyes.

#

The unsub pulled the gloves over his hands and picked up a near by rifle. He took another look at the photographs on his desk, showing an old building and a luxury hotel near by. He let out a wicked laugh and checked the amunition, although he knew that the rifle had been loaded.

#

It was pass four pm once Spencer walked back into the storage room. JJ was lying with her head on the table, asleep. Derek was reading a file, barely able to stay awake. Spencer had a pot of coffee in his hand and he put it down on the table, as well as few paper cups. JJ immediately looked up and David's eyes pulled open. Derek looked up, a smile appearing on his face.

"What time is it?", Derek asked before yawning.

"Four pm. But I think our research is over", he announced as they all reached for their cups. "A tea for you, JJ", he reminded her.

"You are a good boss", she commented playfully. Spencer pulled out his phone and dialed Penelope's number. She answered after three rings and he immediately put her on the speaker. "Hi there, wonder kid! I was just about to call you. I have some exciting news."

"Me too. I think we've found a person of interest."

"Michael Woodhouse", JJ read. "Born on April 1925 in New Jersey. Got married at the age of eighteen to an eighteen year old girl named Greta and they moved to Brooklyn. Soon, they had a baby daughter, Stephanie. Michael spent two years working different odd jobs, Stephanie was a homemaker. Didn't fight in war due to being short sighted. In 1945 he pulled the stakes and moved with his family to Manhattan where he soon got a job at Alan Matthews's movie studio, as a prop guy."

"That can't be a coincidence", David commented. "Something must have gone wrong."

"Right as always", Penelope confirmed, typing away fast. "There was an incident in 1948. A young aspiring actor, Neil West, got killed on the set. Somebody accidentally replaced the blanks in the gun used during the shooting with the bullets that hadn't been cleaned of gunpowder yet. Alan immediately accused Michael, who, in turn, claimed that Alan's son, Keith, who worked part time at his father's movie studio at the time, was responsible. That, of course, didn't hold up well. Many tabloids were writing about the incident, including the one that Tania Stanworth had been writing for. She smeared Michael's name all over the media. One of her first big cases."

"I'm reading it", David groaned, flipping through the pages. "Nasty stuff."

"The lead investigator on the case was a homicide detective Raymond Kamps", JJ read.

Penelope continued. "Despite all the pressure, the DA agreed that there was no sufficient evidence to charge Michael and that all the media coverage would make a fair trial almost impossible. But Michael did lose his job and got his reputation destroyed. Neil's family sued him multiple times, almost draining him and his family completely."

"What did he do?", Derek wondered.

"He moved to New Jersey in 1949, found a job as a garbage man and, later, a part time bartender", Penelope read. "Apparently, he began drinking heavily and arguing with his wife often. It all got worse after he had lost his part time job. And on the night of April 28th 1950, after a heavy drinking at the bar, he got into a fight with Greta and beat her to death in front of Stephanie."

"So, he did time?", Derek asked.

"Yes", Penelope said, nodding her head. "As advised to him by his court appointed attorney, he opted for a bench trial and tried pleading not guilty on the counts of a temporary insanity. Probably the first time that was used as a criminal defense. And it didn't work. The judge found him guilty of a manslaughter in the second degree and sentenced him to ten years in prison. He ended up in Rikers, Stephanie grew up with her grandparents."

"What about his prison years?", JJ asked.

Garcia began typing even faster. "Some problems at the beginning, but he soon became a model prisoner. Even got a college degree and got clean. Probably the first alcoholic treatment in prison. He still served the full sentence and was released in 1960. After that... there are no records of him. Except for a note in."

"He changed his name", David concluded.

"According to the court records for that day and the information about the social security, into Luke Frost. Luke Frost spent the first year working as a librarian... then, according to his bank receipts, in 1961, started receiving payments from a local woman, fifty year old Jeanie Styles. According to the IRS records, the money was a consulting feed. Five payments throughout two years, leading up to one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. In 1963, Jeanie died from a heart attack. The police did look into her life some more due to her nephew being a police officer, questioned Michael a.k.a. George, but eventually the cause of death was listed as a natural cause, Despite some traces of blood being found around her nose and in her eyes."

"I'd bet that "Luke" wasn't wasting his time", David sighed.

And he was correct. "Two months after Jeanie's death, he quit his job and one hundred and twenty thousand dollars to buy himself a newly build mansion in New Jersey", Penelope informed them. "Five years later, he married a woman named Shirley Bingham, a fashion model, fifteen years his junior", she read as a black and white photograph of a gorgeous blonde appeared on her computer screen. "They had two children. She retired from a modeling work in 1977 and had been working as a fashion designer until retiring in 2009."

"Michael obtained the gun, probably from one of his prison contacts", Spencer figured. "And then he extracted revenge. He seduced Greta and conviced her to deposit money on his account, the money that he had provided her, that he had stolen from the victims, in order to fool the IRS. "For our future life together", he probably said. Who knows what kind of a lie he made up about the origin of the money."

David nodded his head. "A year after the murders and in two year span. Clever."

JJ continued. "He was lying low. When he didn't need Greta anymore, he sneaked into her house at night-he probably had an extra key-and suffocated her to death while she was sleeping. The death was ruled a heart attack."

"Nobody made the connection?"

"The Neil West incident happened ten years prior", Spencer explained. "Michael-Luke-changed his name and lived in New Jersey. Alan Matthews was a powerful man with many enemies. was a long time homicide detective with hundreds of cases solved. Michael's first case didn't when get to trial."

"What was Michael-I mean, Luke-doing for a living after purchasing the mansion?", David asked.

"He was receiving quite generous payments from a private publishing agency for decades, no records of him ever contributing something there though. But from 1963 to 2005 they published twenty mystery or horror novels written by a man named Mike Hoods."

"A partial anagram of his original name", Spencer pointed out.

"And the owner was originally a man named John Riley. Michael Woodhouse's former cellmate. Did two years for fraud between 1957 and 1959. He retired in 2000, his son, John Riley jr., took over the business, he still runs the agency. John died in 2003. And, in his "younger days", he was known to hosting an elaborate, often controversial and raunchy parties often populated by go go dancers or models that he was affiliated with."

"Including, according to the press releases, Shirley Bingham", Derek noted, one of the magazines in his hand.

"Michael became a successful writer", JJ added.

"Using an alias in order to keep a low profile", Spencer deduced.

"With the help of his old prison buddy and, later, his son", David concluded.

JJ frowned. "I think I even remember reading some of those books. Creepy." She looked at the old boxes again. "They would mostly dealt with topics like darkness, addiction... revenge."

David sighed. "And now that makes sense."

"What about Stephanie?", Spencer asked.

"Apparently, she had no contacts with her father after the crime. She grew up in Brooklyn, married a man named Freddy Eggers, took his last name. They had a son make Walter. Freddy died in a car accident when Walter was ten. She hasn't remarried or had anymore children. She still lives in Brooklyn. Her son lives on Manhattan."

Spencer frowned, a shiver going up his back. "Walter Eggers. That is Bridgette ex husband."

"Where is Michael... I mean Luke now Garcia?", Derek asked.

"He died. A month ago. "Harper's Health Center", a private clinic. A heart cancer."

"Pull out the list of visitors", Derek ordered. Garcia began typing away.

"Pretty casual stuff. His wife, children, a few of the associates... and Walter Eggers."

"Any info on Walter Eggers?", Spencer asked.

"He worked as a Math professor in local High school until getting fired while the divorce was still pending due to being off the work a lot and showing up late when he would come often. The divorce drained him finantially, almost completely, aaand he had been making a lot of deposits to "Literature" bank. A year prior he was giving tutoring lessons to Neven Heffernan's son."

"They wanted to get a better reputation and earn even more money by attracting more middle class clients, but everything has gone wrong", David commented bitterly.

JJ was confused. "He confessed to an estranged grandson but not to his family?"

"Maybe he felt that, in some sick way, only Walter deserves to know", Derek theorized. "Because he was Stephanie's son. And Stephanie was the only remaining part of his old life. A life that turned him into a killer."

"Maybe he confessed to his family too, but they decided to keep it a secret", David suggested.

#

They were sitting in an SUV, driving to Walter Eggers' house. Spencer was driving, David was sitting on the passenger seat and Derek and JJ were sitting in the back. Luckily, the traffic was almost non existent on that route.

"If Walter is copying his grandfather's murders, Why isn't he directly killing people who wronged him-I mean, Walter?", JJ wondered.

Derek quickly pulled out his phone and called Garcia. "Baby girl, pull out all you can find about Michael Woodhouse's murder trial."

She did as asked, coming up with the information within a minute. "The case didn't get much media coverage. The judge who found Michael guilty and sentenced him was Veck Smith. Died from a heart attack in 1952. His lawyer was Johnattan Brooks. Died in a car accident in 1959. The prosecutor, William Hines, retired in 1955 and moved to Barcelona with his new wife. He died in 1987."

Spencer frowned. "The first two have the same last names as the first two current victims."

"OK...", Garcia exclaimed, doing an additional research. "Uh-huh. Ella's grandfather that I have mentioned two days ago, who lived in New Jersey... that was Veck Smith. And Johnattan Brooks is-was-Nathan Brooks's grandfather."

"Michael didn't go after them because he couldn't have", David explained. "They were all dead or way out of his reach by the time he started killing."

"Does William Hines's family still live in Barcelona?", Spencer asked.

"Yes. But his grandson, Charlie Hines, is, like, super wealthy. He owns a chair of hotels all over the Europe and USA. Actually... he is traveling to USA today, there is a new hotel opening here in Quantico."

Spencer glared at his watch. "That is in half an hour."

"And there is one abandoned building near that residence... I am sending you the addresses now!"

#

They were just five miles away from the destination. Derek was once again holding a phone in his hand, talking to Garcia through a speaker phone.

"I've gained access to Walter IP address", she announced. "He did a pretty good job with deleting anything suspicious, but he was visiting Ella Smith's and Nathan Brooks's social media sites regularly, and did a lot of google research about both the Phantom case in general and his victims. He also signed up for three new library cards, all to the city libraries that contain family tree books. "

"Walter took a step further and began murdering the posterity of the people Michael wanted to extract a revenge upon, but couldn't have", Spencer concluded.

"And by murdering them, took revenge upon people and/or corporations who wronged him. The Literatute bank and his ex wife", JJ said.

David scratched his head, trying to rationalize the events in his head. "He rented an apartment close to Ella's, keeping an eye on her. Made a YouTube channel, shared videos, became friends with her. Convinced her to try starring in a low budget TV movie, for a start. Started taking her to a firing range. They set up a date of the shooting. He issued a tip to a local TV station and made sure that she will show up in the same time, taking a shot at the CEOs. He advised her to get going as soon as she sees them."

Thus both eliminating Ella and sullying the bank's reputation", Derek said.

"He was probably taking an eye on the bank too, finding out that those two guys had been going to work early often", Spencer figured.

"So, the TV crew wasn't only there to prevent the illusion getting shattered, but to ensure a big scandal", JJ concluded.

"He knew that there wouldn't reveal the data to the police and that they likely wouldn't suspect him, being a small investor and having no apparent connection to Ella", Spencer muttered. "The same with the police in case they would obtain the data."

David nodded his head in a sign of an agreement. "While she was on the "shooting", irony aside, he sneaked into her car, took the laptop, the movie script and her phone, then disposed of them. He then deleted her social media sites."

"He probably sneaked in her apartment later, retrieved anything that could have led to him", Spencer added while taking a turn to the left.

David continued. "He then murdered Nathan Brooks, using Ryan Kamps's gun, and framed his ex wife. His good old grandfather told him where he had hidden both guns."

Spencer took a deep breath. "He was probably stalking her too, getting to know her habits and daily schedules after the divorce and managing to clone her cellphone and then slip it back. The same with her house key and her car key. He drove there that night, using Bridgette's car and murdered him using Ryan Heffernan's gun, that he left under the car. He buried the cellphone in the park using a shovel stolen from Bridgette's basement and put it, the car and the boots back."

"He was even smart enough to call him while being in the neighborhood where his ex wife lived", JJ noted.

"Nathan would buy a lot of furniture, sometimes sell it back", David remembered. "Maybe Walter set up a business deal as a ruse."

JJ sighed. "And now, he is going to murder Charlie Hines."

#

Carl crossed his arms over his chest and looked spitefully at Mateo, who was sitting at the table opposite to him, and Rachel, who was standing near by. He ignored the papers on the table in front of him.

"There's no point denying it, Carl", Mateo assured him. "We have an eyewitness that can indirectly place you on the scene."

Carl scoffed. "Indirectly place me on the scene? Sweet."

Rachel groaned. "Dropped the act, smarty-pants. Forensics found traces of gun oil on your jacket sleeve. For God's sake, we found Kaley Green's wallet and a wrist watch in your possession."

Carl glared at Rachel and then looked up at Mateo. "I have a right to remain silent."

"Oh, really?, Rachel hissed. "The agent's reputation is at stake. This is a federal case now. FBI is involved. We will charge you with theft, obstruction of justice, possession of narcotics... and you already have a record."

Carl gulped, trying to appear confident. He looked down at the floor.

"Talk!", Mateo yelled, almost making Carl jump in his seat.

"Look, I... I was about to shoot up!", Carl cried. "And then I heard somebody rushing up the stairs. I hid in that closet. A man and a woman... words were exchanged, a shot was fired... nasty stuff." He ran a hand through his hair. "I waited for about half a minute, then sneaked out. The chick was laying dead on the floor, gun in her hand. Right hand. I... I took her wallet. And her watch." He bit his lip. "And her gun. Figured it may come in handy. I sneaked outside through the back door, but I heard some police sirens near by so I dumped the gun in the dumpster and ran away. I kept the wallet and the watch."

He looked around. Mateo and Rachel were silent, angry look on their face.

"I'm sorry, OK!", Carl cried, then lowered his voice. "Please tell the DA to go easy on me."

#

It was five minutes to five pm once the team entered the abandoned building facing the hotel.

The local police was heading over to the hotel to warn Charlie and the attendees, but it was hard to break through the crowd.

The team was taking two stairs at the time, adrenaline pulsing in their veins and their heart thundering against their chest.

Spencer couldn't help but think of Aaron.

What has Mateo found out?

Is... is he, Spencer Reid, even worthy of such a position, even a temporary one?

Because as soon as they were to enter through that door, his whole team, including himself, was in danger.

Derek kicked the door open and, as expected, once they entered the room with the guns pointed, they found the tall, thin middle aged Caucasian man kneeling in front of the window with a rifle in his hands. He had gloves over his hands and a baseball cap on his head. He barely even looked at them.

"Walter Eggers, put the rifle down!", Spencer commanded, wrapping his fist tightly around the revolver.

Walter remained calm. A bitter smile appeared on his face.

"Put the rifle down, Walter", JJ repeated.

Walter turned towards them and stood up, a rifle still in his hand. "Why should I?", he questioned, almost taunting them. "This is my mission. I can either complete it or die."

"You have a choice, Michael", Spencer said carefully. "Your grandfather became a murderer, that doesn't mean that you have to."

Walter smirked. "It looks to me that he had a pretty good life. After he embraced his dark side."

"You can still work things out, Walter", JJ tried. "Surrender. Work with us. We have a friends in the DA..."

"Don't lie to me!", Walter screamed. He raised his rifle up slightly, but didn't shoot. Soon, his face grew calm, a smile once again on his face. "Laws of the nature. Kill or be killed. Some people just have to accept that." His face turned serious. "I deserve my happiness."

It was then that he fired a bullet into one of the near by boxes, filled with some old cotton and then, almost immediately, into the ceiling. A cloud of dust fell over the room.

Derek inmediately fired a shot at Walter, but missed. JJ's bullet hit another box. Walter smirked and quickly looked away, getting a clear view of William Hines walking on the stage. He knocked a near by chair over, just in case.

Spencer tried to see Walter, to see through the dust, but it was hard.

Walter smirked, putting his finger on the trigger.

In the next moment, a shot was fired.

Soon, the dust settled.

Walter Eggers was laying dead on the floor, face up, blood oozing from the bullet wound to the back of his head, his rifle having fallen down on the floor next to him, never fired.

Spencer was staring in front if himself in shock for a few minutes, a gunpowder mist evaporating from the barrel of his revolver, before rushing over to Walter and pushing the rifle away.

He bend over and cheeked Walter's pulse. There was none.

He then stood up and looked through the window.

Charlie Hines was making a speech down there, in front of the hundreds of people, all of them completely unaware of a drama that had taken place in a building near by. The police was still trying to break through the crowd...

#

Aaron walked into the hallway and smiled slightly, his heart warming at the sight of his colleagues-his friends-gathered there, eagerly awaiting him. He shivered at the slight looks of anxiety on their faces and tried to broaden his smile as he approached them.

Spencer shook his hand, beaming a little. "Great to have you back", he exclaimed.

"I see that you've done a good job", Aaron said gratefully.

Spencer nodded his head as Aaron turned to Derek. "I knew you'll be OK, man."

David took a step closer. "Great to have you back."

JJ hugged Aaron, resting her chin on his shoulder. "You're back", she cried. Aaron became rigid for a moment, then reciprorated the hug.

Penelope hugged him too, her eyes wide and her cheeks blushed. "Boss", she whispered softly.

"Thank you all. But I just wanted to see you." He grinned and tapped Spencer's shoulder. "I'm afraid that you will be stuck with Spencer for some time."

Garcia's jaw went slack. "You're leaving?", sve whispered.

Aaron smiled. "No. I'll just take a few weeks off." He sighed. "I need it." He looked his friends in the eyes. "That will be for the best."

JJ nodded her head. "Sure", she whispered.

Aaron nodded back, then put his hands on his hips. "So... I see that you're all finished here, so how about a drink?"

They all exchanged glances, the suggestion surprising them in an almost comical way, before agreeing in an unision. "Sure!"

And so, they walked out of the building into the cold September night, together. Talking and laughing.

~There's no need to talk about it, because the truth of what one says lies in what one does.~ Bernhard Schlink

~THE END~


End file.
